


Hail and Farewell

by illwynd



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Deconsecrator Thor, Heavy Metal, Humiliation, M/M, Oral Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Sad Loki, Urban witch Thor, asshole!Thor, with good reason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 11:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12556480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illwynd/pseuds/illwynd
Summary: Thor has had enough and he leaves Asgard, abandons his godhood, and starts another life as a heavy metal musician, playing gigs and leaching off the power his fans give him when they call his name. He is content, until one day one of his kin shows up to plead for him to return.





	Hail and Farewell

**Author's Note:**

> So, another round of my Halloween fic tradition! This one is inspired by Deconsecrator Thor, who in my mind has always looked rather like Peter Steele, so the music in this fic is intended to be along the lines of Type O Negative. Have a listen to “Hail and Farewell to Britain” and “Stay Out of My Dreams” in particular, as well as "Anaesthesia."
> 
> Also, much thanks to my betas Alex and Schaudwen!

 

 

*

Something was coming.

Thor knew it on some level when he woke, an unsettled feeling making gooseflesh rise on his arms as he pushed away the soft sheets, as he rose in the cool air and ran fingers through the mess of his hair. As he stumbled barefoot and bare chested into the bathroom and then back out to the tiny, cramped kitchen that was the standard in this mortal city, this place where millions of people dwelt in close proximity to each other, and each one alone. That was what he had come here for. This solitude. Solitude, and simplicity, and simply being away from his kin. From one of them in particular.

The uneasy feeling grew stronger—or he became more attuned, more aware of it with the clarity of wakefulness, the lingering sensation of a bad dream that did not fade. Mindless actions. Checking on the cluster of little potted plants by the window, dampening the dark soil beneath the fragrant leaves and pressing a fingertip into it, leaning down so that he breathed from them, their stillness and their quiet growth. A damp chill running through him that left him feeling even more unsettled, no longer accustomed to this shadowy whorl of emotions coming at the whim of some other force.

Anticipation. Or dread. Waiting, not certain what he was waiting for but feeling it in his bones.

He discovered the reason for it the moment he took his nightly visit up to the roof of his building, where he had set up his scrying pool.

Something was coming.

Electric sunset, shot through with menacing clouds, brisk winds tossing this way and that. Yet the water stirred and swirled in unlikely ways in the grey concrete basin. Rippling unquiet, reflecting the sky, and Thor gazed into it, contemplative frown on his face.

Some _one_ was coming. Tonight, almost certainly. But it could not be helped; Deconsecrator had a gig in three hours, so whoever it was, Thor would simply have to be ready for them.

*

Three hours.

Time felt more precious to him now that it was no longer an endless resource, the substance that made up everything around him.

And because it was more precious, Thor found himself enjoying it more.

He relished the hour spent upon himself and his own indulgences, carefully mingling the herbs and adding them to the tincture, anointing himself with a few murmured words. Breathing the sweet scents and the fainter odor of candle wax as he sat among his tools and talismans.

Taking just as much care as he got up, stretching tense muscles, and retreated into the bathroom where another potion waited ready for mixing, then stripping down to his skin and applying the dye to his roots, where the blond had just begun to show again.

It no longer suited him. That color was simply another part of his old life that he could no longer stomach.

Twenty minutes of letting the dye set, long strands tucked under a shower cap while he idly watched some comedy program on the television, towel around his hips. And then the soothing feel of the warm water washing the dye away, seeing it streak and swirl down the drain.

Thor luxuriated in it; if minutes were precious now, he would fully enjoy each one, and the shower was a good place for that, with the fading, bitter scent of dye and the caress of the water like a lover’s touch and the feel of his own hands upon himself.

It was good to feel clean. It was good to wash away the stain of the past.

And when Thor emerged, toweling dry freshly black hair until it fell in a long cascade down his pale, broad back, pulling on the tight denim that made him almost irresistible to his screaming fans, a simple black t-shirt that he would soak with sweat by the end of the night but for now felt soft against his chest, and the studded black leather over it—by the time he had dressed and readied himself, it was nearly time to go.

*

Johnny was at the wheel of the rusted van that served to get them to gigs when they weren’t on tour, cursing idly at the other drivers as they made their way through the thick city traffic. Red lights and blaring horns. Thick exhaust a brown haze on the night’s black, a rasp in the lungs. Smell of motor oil and tar and the city’s faint but ever-present stink of human effluence.

Thor sat back and closed his eyes, letting the precious minutes slip past, refusing the joint that Sal offered, listening only vaguely to the other guys’ banter.

Someone was coming, and Thor was making absolutely no effort to hide. The name of his band up in lights, a blatant proclamation of just what he was. The sound of his voice, amplified, spilling out. Calling to any who could grasp what they heard.

But this was what he had chosen. This was what he did now. Drawing power from the crowds that clamored to be near to him, not knowing truly why they felt such need. He could stand upon the stage, the heat of the sweeping lights beating down upon him, the roar and crash of the music buoying him up, and an entire room full of people before him would surge to the sound of his words, his screams. They would do as he commanded, battering against each other, arms stretching up in a craving to touch the living god before them, as he smiled aloof and played with them, beckoning them closer but staying forever out of reach.

Such power they gave him, and he accepted it all.

But tonight he knew he would see some other face in the crowd. One of _them_ , though Thor did not yet know who it would be, which of his former kin had found him. Which of them, thinking him here by some accident, perhaps, or some other will than his own, meant to bring him back to the life he had abandoned.

Briefly, darkly, he imagined his mother or one of his old friends stepping into the dark, crowded place that reeked with smoke and spilled beer and sweat. He imagined them staring up at him as his hips swiveled lewdly on the stage, lips so close to the mike, groaning out lyrics about love and violence and betrayal.

The van bounced over a pothole in the road and Thor’s head nodded against the headrest, eyes nearly closed, mouth an unmoving line.

*

The alleyway behind Anaesthesia clattered with the chaos of unloading. Amps and drums and instruments in unwieldy black cases, lugged by roadies with rolled-up sleeves and a lingering haze of cigarette smoke.

Thor made his way to the backstage door, slipping inside, the rumble of one of the opening bands already vibrating the air, and Thor could feel it on his skin. The rise of adulation, of energy just waiting to become his. It was a lover waiting in bed, spread out and needing.

He ducked briefly into the bathrooms for a piss and then waited in the null space of backstage, in the shadows, the nervousness deep in his belly transforming as it always did.

Whoever had come—Thor had better things to concern himself with.

The taste of cheap beer, pressed into his hand by one of his bandmates.

The memorized setlist lingering behind his eyes.

The spare guitar picks shoved into a pocket.

The end of Mourning Reign’s set, and the canned Metallica pouring weakly through the speakers signalling the change of acts and the last chance to hit the bar before the headliners started to play.

Minutes later, the rising susurrus of the crowd.

_Deconsecrator. Deconsecrator. Deconsecrator._

Then striding out onto the stage, like walking into a wave of sound as the susurrus became a roar, a cacophony of screams and yells and voices all raised up for him.

*

It was in the middle of “Blood and Thunder” when Thor spotted it. Saw the face in the crowd, the one he knew would be there, someone from his past.

But when he spotted him, Thor almost stumbled, almost lost the line, the chord almost disintegrating under his fingers.

Of all people, Thor had not been expecting _him_.

_Him._

He steeled himself to go on, gathering his voice and his certainty.

He had hoped never to see his brother again. That had been the entire point of leaving. It had been his brother who had driven him away. And there he stood, pale face turned up toward the stage, a fixed point in the push and shove of the crowd, those intent green eyes watching him.

When Thor’s gaze again passed over that part of the room, he made certain it was without the slightest expression of recognition. He had no intention of letting Loki know he had affected him.

Thor growled into the mike, the low, deep anger of the song flowing through him, the sound of one whose back has finally turned after a thousand injuries. The heavy strings buzzed, digging into the calluses on his fingertips.

Women pressed up against the sharp edge of the stage to reach for him. Screamed for him. A few men as well. Their awe and adoration flowing into his body, settling in his core. And Thor leaned back, making his instrument sing, holding himself aloof, mouth turned down.

_Desire me, yes. But I’m not yours to have._

_And that goes doubly for you, Loki._

*

Thor’s body was buzzing with power by the time the show ended. He could feel it all through his veins, each nerve alight, each heartbeat flushed.

He did not care if he had given up a much greater power than this. For this, he owed no one anything. Here, he could not be manipulated or controlled. He was still a god, though now of a smaller sphere. A heavy metal god. And the groupies came to him like a sacrifice after each show. Tonight, though, he was in the mood for none of them.

He switched from cheap beer to expensive vodka, relishing the burn as it went down. Sprawling like a black-maned lion on one of the couches backstage, surveying his domain. Watching as his bandmates drank and partied with the fans, picked out pretty ones to play with, rode the wave of power they could feel but could never use the way he did.

The voice came from very near, like a purr.

“That was an amazing show.”

Thor would know that voice anywhere. But he turned to the speaker like a stranger, took in the sight of him.

Tall and lean and pale, clad all in black denim and leather, highlights of gold studs and little flashes of green enamel. Nothing odd or out of place for the scene in which he stood.

Loki had evidently done his research before he’d come.

He had also let his hair grow out, the length pulling it straight, or perhaps he had done that purposely as well. It ran halfway down his back, smooth, so black it had a bluish sheen.

He was still beautiful. Thor could not deny that. But the sight of him burned, burned so hot it was hard to control.

“We usually are,” Thor answered, letting anger overflow as arrogance, the cockiness that had always made his brother want to punch him, because Thor was not going to make this easy for him, no matter what Loki had come for. He wanted to make it hard. He wanted to make Loki suffer as _he_ had suffered for so long, and he wanted to send him away hopeless and unsatisfied.

So he turned that cocky grin on even wider and looked Loki in the eye, without letting even a hint of familiarity seep into it.

“I take it that was your first time? Seeing us?”

Loki tilted his head, squirmed, gave a huff, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. “Thor, stop this. It’s time to come home.”

But Thor only continued to smile at him, unfazed. “Moving a little fast, aren’t you, sweetheart? You haven’t even told me your name.”

Thor watched the confusion spread over Loki’s face, with some small satisfaction.

But he knew Loki very well, and of course the confusion didn’t last long.

“I never took you for the type to take things slow,” Loki said, a change seeping through his voice, his eyes.

And Thor matched it, knocking back the rest of his glass of vodka and feeling heat flush through him. Propping his arm on the back of the cushion in a rough invitation.

“You’re right. I’m not. But I’m also not really the type to take you home with me. I can just as well fuck you right here.”

Loki stared back at him, silent, still.

“If I want you,” Thor added.

Thor watched Loki war with himself. Whatever abortive concern he might have felt for his brother’s well-being, losing a battle against insulted pride and frustration and curiosity.

Thor watched, something tensing in his belly. Knowing his brother well and loathing him for all of this.

And he leaned forward, pouring another drink from the bottle, and then filling the second glass next to it. Holding it out and waiting for Loki to take it hastily from his hand.

*

It wasn’t hard to get Loki right where Thor wanted him. Clambering onto Thor’s lap, too tall for it not to be awkward, and kissing him, vodka sharp on their breaths.

And then Thor was filled with enough power from the show that it was easy to bleed a little bit off into his touch. Making it irresistible. Sneaking his hand up under Loki’s shirt and toying with a nipple until he was breathing hard, eyes glazed.

Every man and woman in that venue had poured their awe into him. Right now Thor had so much power thrumming through him, he could have struck his brother down, though Loki was still a god. Though Loki had given up nothing. Had lost nothing. Only Thor had.

But what he had kept for himself was his sanity. His self respect.

So it was much more satisfying right now to do almost nothing and ruin his brother anyway.  

“Responsive,” Thor murmured, chuckling, taunting, and Loki whimpered.

This was going to be a different kind of of show, and Thor felt it as the eyes in the room began to notice them, began to gaze their way. He let Loki’s nipple go and instead pulled him closer by the hips. Ran his fingers down soft hair.

He heard the murmurs all around the room, the nervous excited little titters saying they could practically be twins. The long black hair. Their height. Their bodies. Loki was merely a little more lithe, Thor a little more thickly built. Green eyes and blue.

“Thor, I never knew you had a brother,” someone laughed, drunken, nearby.

Thor pulled Loki’s hair to look into his eyes. Answered directly to him, face like stone.

“I don’t.”

He felt Loki’s flinch.

“But the idea is appealing,” he added, lower, holding his gaze and noting the nervous tension that twitched into his brow. Probably no one else could have spotted it, but Thor knew. “If you were my brother, I’d definitely fuck you, no matter how wrong it is. That would be half the fun. I’d make you come all over my dick so you’d never be able to think of anyone else. Make sure you’d always be mine.”

By the time he finished the words, Loki was panting. And Thor could not deny… he was aroused also, his cock hard in his jeans, pressed against the seam, against Loki’s ass, through layers of fabric. He pushed upward with his hips to be sure he felt it.

“Would you like that?” he asked, a low growl.

Frantic, Loki nodded, and he bent down for another kiss, his lips soft and hungry on Thor’s for the moment Thor allowed it. His mouth hot and familiar, every shifting motion of his body radiating need.

But Loki was getting nothing that easily, and his hair was long and smooth in Thor’s grasp.

“What would you do if you were my brother?” Thor demanded. And he found it pleasant to tug hard enough that Loki had to gasp and squirm to answer, throat taut.

“I’d… I’d do whatever you wanted. Whatever you asked.”

It was even more pleasant not to answer at first. To make Loki wait.

“What if I wanted you down on your knees before me. Here and now.”

Thor had never before in his life felt such viciousness within himself. He certainly had never before indulged it. At home, in Asgard, he would have thought such actions and feelings beneath him.

And ensconced in his new life of dingy bars and pulsing venues, of rooftop pools and little piles of burning herbs, of black hair dye and thunderstorm smell cutting through city smog, of graffitied bricks and flickering streetlights and curling up under soft cotton sheets while rain pattered on the window, a lonely fallen god in a dreary world…

Such a feeling had been far from him in this life as well. Yet clearly it had been waiting for its moment. Hidden inside of him, a hot coal in the depths of his belly.

“On your knees. That’s what I want,” he said, and Loki’s eyes widened.

Probably everyone was watching as he spread his thighs and Loki sank down between them, going down on his knees on the filthy floor, just as Thor had commanded. As Loki fumbled with Thor’s belt, opening it, pulling apart the button, unzipping. Grey flannel boxers beneath. Tugging his jeans down just enough.

Thor let him do the work. He wanted to watch his brother’s expression through it. And he was thoroughly rewarded.

Loki was actually blushing. Hands awkward and eager as he got his fingers around Thor’s warm erection, pulling it free. Staring at the massive length and girth of it as if he had never seen it before. Thor saw him swallow. Saw his chest rise and fall, quick. Saw his eyes flicker up to Thor’s face and then evade again as if ashamed to be caught looking.

The most vicious, secret part of Thor’s heart thrilled.

Loki deserved this. Deserved all of this and worse.

Thor sank back, legs spreading wider, Loki lowly between them. He had taken Thor’s shaft in his hand, and as Thor watched he brought the bulbous head to his mouth. Lapping his tongue across it, letting Thor feel its texture, its wetness, its heat. Eyes low.

Thor knew the feeling of this so well. He knew the skill of his brother’s tongue, how well it could tease into his slit or rub along the thick pulsing vein. He had come down his brother’s throat a thousand times at least.

And why had Loki dared to follow him after Thor had made perfectly clear that he was done? Loki had ignored his warnings. Ignored his will. Come after him with no regard for what he had expressly said he needed. It was just the same as always, just another reason to add to the long list of wrongs his brother had done him.

Thor wanted nothing more than to choke him, and he had never felt such rage.

But Loki was very skilled at this, and Thor sat back and let him work. Let his brother suck his cock in a room full of people, in a bid for Thor’s forgiveness. Presumably.

Wet heat and suction and the stroking of his spit-soaked hand. Pulling off and licking at the softness of Thor’s balls, undoubtedly tasting the sweat upon them from all his exertions during the show. Then going back to his shaft, now red and rock-hard. Bobbing his head over Thor’s lap.

It was pleasurable. Hollow and rage-driven. Everyone watching him do this. His hand curling and tangling in his brother’s hair. Yanking him back and forth. Making him take it. Watching the tears rise in emerald green eyes each time Thor forced him down and choked him on his cock, and glorying in those stray droplets, his brother’s false regret made manifest.

When he finally could hold back no more, chest rising and falling, breathing heavily until the sharp inhalation caught in his throat, Thor pulled Loki back just in time to come across his face. Spurting white across his cheeks, his tear-damp eyes wide with shock. The throbbing sensation cutting through Thor, and how well suited it was to the burning in his belly.  

It was pleasurable, and it was barely a release at all.

Thor sat up, towering over Loki’s trembling form, gazing at the edge of his reddening cheeks, his slumped shoulders, his mussed hair.

Thor’s voice was sharp and cruel when he spoke. “Of course I know who you are, Loki.”

Loki twisted to stare up at him, sticky white fluid still dripping from his face. He was blinking and panting and Thor had never seen such a picture before. He wondered if Loki was about to truly cry.

“I remember every time we were ever together. And if that’s what you wanted, if that’s what you’re here for—one more fuck for old times’ sake—you’ve gotten it. At least, as much as I’m willing to give you. And now, this time, listen to me when I say I want nothing more to do with you.”

Loki continued to stare, until he shuddered and looked away and began awkwardly trying to wipe Thor’s seed from his face, his eyelids.  

“Thor…” he pleaded.

Thor’s jaw clenched. “No.”

Loki’s hand reached out to clutch at his thigh then, tense and shaking with desperation. And Thor brushed it away.

“ _No_. Do not come near me again. And if I now call you my brother one final time, it is merely to say farewell.”

Loki’s face was ghostly pale and his lower lip trembled as Thor tucked himself away. Loki did not move as Thor sat forward. As he untangled them. As he leaned, lips brushing against his brother’s brow, his hair, and then stood, stepping over him and away, taking the bottle of vodka as he went.

He glanced back to see Loki still slumped there where he had left him, tears and come upon his face.

“Sometimes, man, you’re really cold,” Johnny said to him as Thor stalked away.

He could only nod in silence.

“He’s not really your brother, is he?”

Thor offered his bandmate a grim smile. “What do you think?”

*

Thor woke with a fitful hangover. Sweaty and overheated with no more than a light sheet draped over his body. Draining the cup of water left he had helpfully left himself at the bedside. Casting an arm over his face against the midmorning light slanting through a dirty windowpane.

Thor pulled himself slowly to waking. Heated coffee and drank mouthfuls of its dark bitterness. Burned a pinch of something fragrant and green, breathed in the smoke and felt his headache peeling back like a skin.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he had already felt it. He already knew, even before he mounted to the roof to blink and shade his eyes in the sunlight, watching the waters churn.

Thor’s mouth pulled into a wry line.

It seemed Loki had decided to make everything worse. Perhaps to try chaos where begging and wheedling had not worked. Thor was not sure he had ever seen such futile persistence, even in his brother. But he knew he had no more forgiveness to give, no matter what Loki attempted.

So Thor turned away, leaving the scrying pool to swirl and boil on its own. And he readied himself for that night’s show.


End file.
